The Hand of Darkness
by Naughty Is Nice
Summary: A cruel twist of fate coupled with neglect, child abuse, & emotional trauma in his early years lead Eragon to follow in his mother's footsteps & become a member of the assassination guild known as the Black Hand. Now he's the most feared & lethal assassin in the entire Empire but what happens when destiny comes calling in the form of an unusually intriguing contract? AU
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:** The books aren't mine so no money is being made off of this project.

**Introduction:** Being rather sick and tired of the usual affair, I decided to try out something rather different. This has "M"-rated content though, particularly in the first chapter. While most is in the summary there are mentions of child abuse, neglect, emotional trauma, slavery bondage, and assassination. Also, while Eragon uses fur rugs I don't condone the use of them in real life nor anything else depicted in this AU. It's a fantasy world so I'm allowed a little leeway. I tried to make Eragon's character the exact opposite of what it was in the books hence this unusual chapter, so no flames please. If this is not to your liking then look elsewhere as there is plenty to read on this website. But if you do like it than don't forget to review since your feedback is all I get for my efforts. But enough talk. I'll shut up now and let the story begin. Also, Eragon's mother, Selena, was said to be a part of the Black Hand so that gave me the idea for this story.

**Chapter 1:** Bleak Beginnings

Eragon's mind wandered, as it always did after another day of business came to an end. It was late in the evening and the city of Drass-Leona was fast asleep, shrouded in a gray mist and pelted with a light drizzle making it look serene but eerie at the same time. It was his favourite time of the day, or rather night. The reason being, it was the best time for business. But Eragon had an appointment with an unknown client and so he was waiting in his office.

Inky dark walls of black marble surrounded him and a domed roof shielded him from the elements. A single round window allowed a soft beam of moonlight to filter in making the atmosphere all the more foreboding and menacing.

Eragon sat behind a large ebony desk with his feet propped up on the corner of it, puffing away at a wooden pipe as he poured over some scrolls and manuscripts. Upon a closer look, one could tell that they were building plans, usually those of a castle or palace but sometimes also of a manor or a wealthy house.

A large thick book with a dark red cover lay open on the table and upon it was scrawled in messy hand-writing a list of names. Many of these names were crossed out but some were still waiting it seemed. Beneath each of the name was a list of directions and a small summary about the person, be it man or woman.

An ink pot in the shape of half a skull sat beside the book and a quill rested in the container. Papers, scrolls, and manuscripts were strewn all around the desk as well as numerous other items: Strange metal bells, a blade hung by a thread in some kind of wooden frame, a miniature gallows, a small figurine of a chopping block with a beheaded person kneeling on it.

The rest of the room was decorated in a similar if not more disturbing fashion: Rows upon rows of weapons covered every corner of the walls. These ranged from various swords of all kinds including human, magician, elvish, or dwarvish, even Urgal blades. Knives of various shapes, sizes, and colours were also on display as well as several spears, spikes, maces, and bows – both recurved and longbows.

The fur coats of different types of monsters, gigantic wolves and bears or even more terrifying beasts, were spread out on the floor and the busts of these and other creatures, including dragon skulls, were hung almost proudly on the walls.

Eragon himself was dressed in a black cloak with a hood pulled up well over his head. The cloak was open revealing a skin-tight black leather outfit beneath. His face was covered by a black mask of some sorts except for his eyes which were full of steel as they bored into the list of names held in his hand.

A dagger was thrust into the surface of the table but it could be easily used if necessary although it was mainly there for show, since Eragon had more daggers planted throughout his person in secret of course. He'd rather use these if the need arose but if it came down to it there were lots of other traps and devices planted throughout the room and the hallway leading up to it.

These were also protected by spells so that they would only trigger by someone of ill-intent. Needless to say, Eragon was a force to be reckoned with and he was quite confident that his client wasn't here to pose a threat. Clients only did that if they were very, very powerful and wanted to warn Eragon not to double-cross them.

You see, Eragon was an assassin.

That's right.

He worked with the Black Hand and had risen through the ranks. At first, he was a shy quiet boy thanks to his sickening past. He wasn't always the ruthless cunning assassin who played with people like chess.

He was once a kind caring boy, loyal to the people who raised him. But they weren't their parents and showed their true colours as soon as possible. He shouldn't have been there in that village. But as soon as he could understand them, his parents revealed to him that he was sent there by some farmer called Garrow from the Valley of Carvahal.

Apparently, he had been dropped off there by his mother Selena who used to be a Black Hand and was one of the most feared assassins of all time. No one knew why she gave him up but it was obvious she thought he'd be cared for and loved as a son by the kind-hearted farmer who had a wife and son of his own.

But something happened and his wife died leaving him a widower with a son of his own to raise and a farm to handle. He just didn't have the time to raise Eragon and couldn't be bothered with an extra mouth to feed as much as he wanted to fulfil his sister's wishes. So he gave Eragon to the first family he could find.

Unfortunately for Eragon, those people were tricksters and would always adopt children so they could twist them into being submissive and sell them as slaves. There were always orphans in the mountains and they made a very profitable business. Eragon's early life was hell. His "parents" made him work himself to the bone as soon as possible.

They never let him leave the cottage that was a few days away from the nearby village. They beat him soundly whenever he complained or asked why he had to do the work. At first, he wondered what he was doing wrong and couldn't comprehend why these people were being so mean to him. But eventually, enough beating and cussing made him learn.

Eragon also learned to swear from these people and often did so although under his breath. His "parents" would whip him if they heard him curse. He was hardly fed either and merely given the scraps his folks, no his _owners_, considered to be too poor for them to eat. When he turned twelve, Eragon was introduced to sex first by his "mother" and then by his "father."

Despite how many times he begged them not to touch him they did it anyway and showed him how to please women and men alike. To make sure he understood how to do it with other people and not just them they invited some of their friends over for the night and Eragon was passed on like a sack of potatoes to them.

Some of the people were nice to Eragon but most were cruel sick people who left him in a bloody sobbing heap in the corner of the attic when they were done with him. Needless to say, Eragon vowed revenge more than once but the chance never came. Months turned to years and Eragon almost gave up hope.

But on his fifteenth birthday, when he was to be sold as a slave, a band of Urgals poured into the village. It was a bloodbath. Nearly everyone was either raped or slaughtered but none escaped alive. None save Eragon. His folks didn't make it out alive either.

In the confusion, Eragon made sure they didn't survive by accidentally dropping a torch in the doorway as he went outside to see what happened. Their screams as they burned alive brought a grim smile to his face and he felt more powerful than ever before. But the Urgals were still around so he snuck away in the chaos that followed leaving his home in a pile of ashes.

During his travels, he had to do all sorts of things to survive whether it was stealing, burning, killing or seducing the daughter, or son, of some nobleman. In time, all of Eragon's emotions burned away leaving an empty cold shell. Eventually, he found his way to the bustling city of Drass-Leona where crime was rampant in the streets.

The governor of the city was corrupt as anything and turned a blind eye to the people's plight. That served Eragon well since he eventually joined the Black Hand. At first, he simply sought it out to find his mother. But the Black Hand informed him that she left their ranks despite being the most deadly lethal assassin they had ever known.

Oddly enough, he felt he owed them something for their loss so he stayed with the assassins. At first it was to find his feet but then it became a regular thing and soon he was a member of the secretive, largely-unknown group. He soon discovered he possessed a natural prowess in the art of moving unseen and took a delight in killing as opposed to merely robbing someone blind.

He did that too but found he was better at assassination than stealing. All too soon, he rose through the ranks and made a name for himself as the Hand of Darkness. He was even offered leadership of the guild by the Guild Master himself but declined not wanting to be tied down like so. Instead, he accepted the quaint little office the guild offered him as a reward for his services.

The guild would also turn a blind eye to him so that he could kill as he pleased without checking in first to see if his target was part of some other contract, which suited Eragon just fine. Of course, this made him enemies in the guild as older assassins became jealous of his rise to fame and glory but he crushed all resistance and soon became the most infamous and feared assassin in all the land.

So it was that Eragon found himself sitting in his office like he usually did most nights, being plagued with insomnia from his childhood, when his client took it upon himself to finally arrive. A knocking at the door stirred Eragon into attention and the young assassin placed his paper down with a sigh. So many names unchecked, so little time.

"Enter," He called, unable to stifle the boredom in his voice.

Clients all wanted the same thing: Revenge. Honour killings and vengeance were among the most popular reasons for hiring him. Or it was the other side of the coin where someone was getting too powerful and his client wanted that person out of the way. Whatever the case, it earned him some shiny coins and helped him to pass the time.

Finally, the door opened and a cloaked figure stepped throughout it. The figure was obviously a man and clutched a worn satchel over his shoulder. With his face guarded by the shadow of his hood, he glanced around furtively at the alarming decorations on Eragon's office.

This was perfectly normal and a usual routine. Every client did that and Eragon didn't mind. In fact, it helped to invoke terror in most of his clients and told them that he was not some foolish novice new to the trade. No. He was a force to be reckoned with and deserved the respect his assassination skills afforded him.

But if this new client was at all worried by the gruesome decorations, he failed to show it. Instead, he strode up calmly to Eragon. His body was relaxed and his pace was even suggesting he was not at all concerned by the lethal weapons and the sinister decor on display, nor even Eragon's unusual costume. Most of the Black Hand didn't wear this outfit since they wore normal clothes in an attempt to blend in with the general populous. But this was Eragon's trademark outfit and he liked it that way.

"Are you the one called the Hand of Darkness?" The man asked softly.

Eragon gave himself a mental shake and glanced up appraisingly at the old man pretending to be uninterested and bored. Truth be told, he was rather bored but there was something about the casual manner in the old man when he strode into the office that made Eragon intrigued. His clients weren't usually that confident.

Either he had no fear of such things or he was a threat to be taken into consideration. If he was this powerful that he didn't fear the most notorious assassin Alagaësia had ever known, then who knew how dangerous the man's desired target was or what he, or she, had done? Stifling a pang of uncertainty, Eragon put down his pipe and folded his arms across his chest. Taking a moment to collect his thoughts, he nodded and peered from under his hood at the man.

"Aye, that is one of my titles," Eragon said hollowly.

It was no boast, merely a statement; an acknowledgement.

"Then I need your assistance in a dire matter," The man explained.

Eragon almost rolled his eyes. The situations were always 'most dire' but even so, he was not prepared for the next words that came out of the man's mouth, and he almost fell off his chair in shock.

"I need you to slay a Shade for me Eragon," The man said grimly.

**TO BE CONTNIUED**


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer:** I could play the broken record again but you and I both know that I'm NOT a best-selling, world-famous author so I obviously don't own this.

**Intro:** Not too much to say other than a huge happy thank you to all those who reviewed. Glad I was able to supply something even remotely entertaining and I hope the next chapter lives up to your expectations. Also, there's some minor cussing in this chapter and about the old man, I decided to leave him for the next episode although after the end of this chapter it should be pretty darn obvious who he is if you haven't figured it out already which I think most of you did. So I'll shut now and let you read the next update.

**Chapter 2:** An Unexpected Announcement

For a moment, Eragon was so shocked at the man's casual statement that he simply stared at him, his eyes wide and his jaw agape. It didn't even register in his head that some creepy old codger had asked of him to slay the most powerful of monsters to roam the land.

True he was the most deadly and lethal assassin in all the land but he was not a demon-slayer. He simply didn't deal in the other world, the supernatural. He could not even fathom the notion of it. Was the old man pulling his leg? Did he have a death wish? Was he trying to get him killed?

Or was he seeing if he was strong enough to take up his real challenge that was hidden for some reason? Was he merely testing Eragon or did he really want him to kill a fucking Shade? They were extremely rare for one and that the old man had found the damn thing suggested he was in the deep end.

What shit had he gotten into now that he asked Eragon to kill a _Shade_? For all the legends and myths revolving around them, Shades simply didn't waltz into civilization and harass old men with suspicious-looking satchels. They were sly and cunning, ancient in years giving them experience like no elf or dragon.

They had powerful magic as old as the world itself and as dark as the shadows of night. They were all expert warriors and thrived on the blood of their enemies. They were patient and intelligent beings who prepared their plans years, decades even, beforehand. They weren't the type of villain who bragged about their master plan, that would be incredibly stupid and Shades weren't like that.

They were devilish and cruel and sick abominations. They used anything and everything to their advantage even a person's pain or heartache. The very concept of wanting to kill a Shade let alone actually trying it was the epitome of folly.

Eragon didn't know what trouble the old man was in. He didn't know what enemies he had after him. For once in his life of assassination and infiltration, Eragon didn't even _care_ what the old man's sob story was regarding the Shade.

He merely wanted the creep to get the hell away from him. Being an assassin meant you had to look out for yourself first. There was no one you could trust to watch your back and Eragon didn't want to paint a huge target on his own back by carrying out the old man's target.

It's not that he wasn't strong enough to defeat the Shade; he just wasn't _stupid_ enough to try it. The idea was as foolish as attempting to defy the gods themselves, if they existed.

Taking a deep steady breath, Eragon closed his eyes momentarily and clenched his fists trying to regain control of the situation. He was interrupted however, by a dry raspy chuckle from the old man.

"I thought you might be hesitant to accept my contract," The old man said, shrugging the satchel off his shoulder and cradling it in the palms of his hands. "Which is why I brought this."

Eragon opened his eyes cautiously, his mind racing as he scanned the man for any hidden weapons that he might pull out at a moment's notice in order to threaten Eragon into obeying him. When he saw none, the assassin relaxed but remained diligent in case this was some crazy ruse the old codger cooked up to get him distracted.

"What is it?" Eragon hissed. "I have little time for games and I don't want your money or I could have taken it."

The old man seemed to sigh as he hesitated, his hands clutching the satchel and hovering over the desk, as if fighting an inward war with himself. At length, he relented and placed the satchel softly on the table.

"It is the most precious gift anyone could ever hope to receive," The man replied fervently. "If that does not explain it then I don't know what will."

Eragon faltered, biting back a sharp retort. There were so many reasons why he wanted to not trust this man who seemed to know about him while he came out of the blue. This scheme he had was so far-fetched and bloody insane that Eragon didn't give a flying fuck about any gift the codger might have in store for him.

Heaving a sigh, he let his shoulders sag and murmured a soft spell checking the satchel for any curses and dark magic. Instead, he was pleasantly surprised and relieved to see that it was only guarded by a few wards and a charm to make the satchel hold together.

That suggested what was inside it was heavy and most definitely precious. Attempting to stifle a thrill of excitement that shot through him, Eragon opened the bag and peered cautiously at what it contained: A large blue stone the size of a dinner plate with intricate silver veins embedded on the surface rested elegantly in the folds of the satchel.

Eragon's breath caught in his throat and his heart skipped a beat. Thanks to the insanity of their mad king, dragons had all been exterminated centuries ago. No dragon, aside from rumours of the king's large black one, had been sighted in an eternity. In all his years as a member of the Black Hand, Eragon had never hoped to find a dragon egg. The idea was almost more insane than trying to take out a Shade, if that was at all possible.

Eragon watched, transfixed, as the dragon egg sat there tantalizingly beautiful and bewitching before him. With a full grown dragon coupled with his hard-earned skills and knowledge, he could become the most powerful warrior the world had ever known. Never before had one of the Black Hand become a Dragon Rider. The power and strength the dragon could give him made his head spin. Why, he could even rival the king himself!

"So?" The old man asked hopefully. "Will you accept my offer?"

Eragon closed his eyes clutching his hands behind the egg. It was so tempting the idea was almost serene and ethereal as if it was too good to be true. But Eragon wondered if he could handle another mind invading his own.

He would never have a moment of privacy and would always feel the pain, joy, and emotions of the dragons. He briefly wondered if that included dragon mating rituals. If the dragon was in heat would he also be in heat? The idea made Eragon grimace and then frown. He had already made up his mind.

Heaving a sigh, Eragon shook his head and reverently pushed the egg away from him...

...Much to the shock and astonishment of the old man standing before him.

"Have you taken leave of your _senses?_" The old man exclaimed when Eragon folded his arms across his chest and resumed his impassive stance. "People would kill their own _mother_ to get that egg. You don't know what lengths I have gone through to ensure the egg's safety! Are you a simpleton that you cannot understand what I am offering you?"

"I have made up my mind," Eragon said simply. "No man should ever have that amount of power. As it is I am already powerful enough. I do not need your gift and must respectfully decline your contract. Perhaps another assassin would be more willing."

"Please wait!" The man gasped, his eyes wide and his hands shaking. "I need your help. You do not understand!"

"Well maybe I don't _want_ to understand," Eragon snapped. "The idea of killing a Shade is insane. I want you to get the hell away from me and never see your face again or else I might have to break it."

The man flinched at Eragon's tone and the assassin could not resist a smirk under his mask.

"You know the way out," Eragon said softly but with steel in his voice. "I suggest you use it."

While previously the old man had seemed confident and sure of himself he now looked resigned and depressed. He now looked smaller and weaker like the old man he was. Gathering the egg up in the satchel, he slung it over his shoulder again and trudged towards the door. But just as his hand hovered over the door handle he turned around hesitantly and glanced at Eragon who arched an eyebrow curiously.

"Any last words?" Eragon drawled, wanting to call it quits for the night and get some sleep.

Unfortunately for him it didn't look like any rest was in store for him since the old codger wasn't quite done with the shocks yet.

"I didn't want you to find out like this," The old man said sadly with true regret in his voice. "But I have information of your mother."

Without another word, he turned around and left the room letting the door slide shut behind him leaving Eragon frozen in shock.

**TO BE CONTINUED **


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer:** I do not own any of this stuff and make no profit off it. I'm merely content to play in Christopher Paolini's sandbox and build my own sand castles on his beech as the saying goes. No copyright infringement is at all intended and I apologize in advance if someone feels offended if I unintentionally copied their story idea.

**Intro:** First of all, you guys rock and are seriously cool for continuing with your welcoming feedback. Also, I just watched the new movie "Man on a Ledge" on the aeroplane since a friend referred it to me and I had nothing to do so I decided to buckle down and finally watch it. To make a long story short the movie was incredible and I loved it. In light of that, the scene at the end of the chapter is inspired by that scene and also the cliff scene in the Lord of the Rings movie – the Return of the King. See if you can guess which one! But enough talk and I'll let you figure it out for yourself.

Enjoy! (hopefully)

**CHAPTER 3:** Fear the Dark

If there was ever a time when Eragon hated himself it was now. He was furious at how some crazy old man foolish enough to carry around a dragon egg like a sack of potatoes got under his defences. Who would be that insane to carry something so precious as the last dragon egg in all of Alagaësia in a mere satchel?

The idea was preposterous to such an extent it was almost laughable. But it happened and now Eragon was stuck in a pickle. On one hand, he could walk away and pretend it never happened. Being an assassin, there were some contracts he declined if they were too messy, likely to fail, or just pointless and didn't profit him any.

This could be just like one of those times. However, the old man also had information about his mother. Or so he said. Obviously, it could be just a ploy to get him to cave and pursue him. Then the old man would force him to work together with him in order to obtain the information.

Now, Eragon could go after him in the heat of the moment and get caught up in the little creep's mad scheme involving a lot of personal risk. Or he could do it the right way and interrogate him like the assassin he was. There was no question as to what option he'd chose. Not wasting a moment longer, he slid up from his seat careful not to make a sound lest he disturb the old man's progress.

More often than not, the element of surprise was the greatest asset to an assassin and in this case it would be useful. Then again he could just set off the traps in the hallway but that would most likely reduce the old man to a pile of ashes. No. He wanted the man alive and for that he needed to act alone, and fast.

Heaving a sigh, he made sure that his knives were in the right place and pondered taking any other weapons. He had some tucked up under his sleeves near his wrists that were fitted into a dwarvish mechanism which allowed the blade to propel forward into the air like a loosed arrow upon a certain twist of the hand and wrist.

He had other knives stowed on easily accessible parts of his body. These were all made from light metal so as to avoid weighing him down. He needed to be light on his feet and every bit of weightlessness helped. Satisfied that his job was done, he padded swiftly but softly across the floor to the door.

As much as he enjoyed a dramatic entrance, he left his cape, minus the hood, since it would only make him stumble and more conspicuous. It was merely to keep up appearances for clients since most of the time he dressed like a normal citizen of the Empire in order to blend in.

Disguises like these helped in dark places or if they were infiltrating an enemy castle or fortress that was heavily guarded and containing no civilians. Then it was just stupid guards, most of them hired hands, to work with and they needed to be intimidated.

But now was not the case so he focussed on the task at hand and creaked the door open peering through it into the darkened hall. No sooner had he gazed out than he muttered a curse under his breath and ducked back behind the door. Panting heavily he leaned against the wall beside the door closing his eyes and rubbing his temples.

He had just seen two creatures who were supposed to be fictional – myths, legends, like the stupid Shade the old man wanted him to take out. He was an assassin, not a monster slayer. Now it just seemed like these demons were popping up all over the place, if the two out in the hall were any indication.

Technically, they weren't quite demons. Eragon hadn't gotten the best glimpse at them but he was able to spot a large hooked beak, black shiny scales, and a fearsome look. They wore dark cloaks and had an inhumanly huge form. And they were interrogating one of the Black Hand.

It was just some new novice recently recruited by the guild master. If it was one of the higher ups, then those bird-like freaks wouldn't be having such an easy time. But then again, they shouldn't be having a time at all since they shouldn't be alive for fuck's sake.

Legend had it that there were only two of them left since they were all but whipped out by the Dragon Riders during the Golden Age when the world was at peace. But as the tale went, the tyrant king Galbatorix offered them a position in power and the freedom to live in exchange for their services as his bodyguards and interrogators.

Now they were tormenting some poor newcomer for information most likely about the dragon egg. That meant they were looking for the old man which meant that the old codger was in deeper shit than Eragon had first thought. He never believed in fairy tales and didn't even trust magic.

The Black Hand had no need of it but it sometimes helped. The few wards Eragon had were cast by a half-elvish magician who sometimes helped the Black Hand out on a few covert operations. All that to say, Eragon didn't like this situation one bit: Dragon eggs, Shades, magic, monsters.

It was just getting from bad to worse. But at least the old man couldn't have gotten very far. He would have been walking slowly due to feeling dejected and depressed when Eragon declined his contract. He would have probably ducked in a corner somewhere to avoid the king's now very real bodyguard: The Raz'zack.

Trying to stay calm, Eragon slid the door open again and scanned the hallway for the old man. For any normal person it would have been a hard calling since obviously the old man had some training in the art of remaining unseen.

Even so, he spotted him easily flat against the wall. His face was white as a sheet and his right hand kept opening and closing for some odd reason. Eragon nearly rolled his eyes. Magic never brought anyone good fortune. He was usually against it but it was a guild protocol to use every method of defence possible.

He could try to fight the Raz'zack but he didn't know nearly enough about them and if he didn't want to mess with a Shade then he most definitely did _not_ want to mess with them. While Shades had cunning, the Raz'zack had brute strength and were immune to just about everything.

Sadly, it seemed like there was no other option to fight them unless he wanted to hop out of a window somewhere. But there were no windows in his office which was, in hindsight, a pretty stupid idea. He really only used that office for clients to make him seem foreboding and menacing.

Then again, that round window at the top opened out onto the roof and from there he could make a quick escape. Correction, _they_ could make a quick escape. With that thought in mind, he stole across the hall. Sweat prickled his forehead and arm pits. His heart was pounding so rapidly in his chest that he could have sworn the beasts would hear it.

He ground his teeth against the blood-curdling screams emanating from the poor novice. Surely that would have attracted attention enough from the rest of the guild. He and the newcomer couldn't be the only ones in the headquarters. Or were they? Were the beasts so powerful that they took out all of his fellow assassins? The thought sickened him.

Giving himself a mental shake, he paused a foot away from the old man grateful he was able to sneak up to him so easily. Bracing himself, he lay flat against the wall and clamped his hand down on the old man's mouth.

The old man froze and his eyes flew wide open. They shot to Eragon's direction and the assassin was afraid the old man would struggle. But luckily he had enough sense not to and relaxed slightly.

"One scream and we're both dead," Eragon whispered hoarsely.

The old man nodded stiffly. Eragon breathed a sigh and lowered his hand glancing at the old man carefully before returning his gaze to the Raz'zack who were continuing to torture the novice. A loud pop from their direction signalled a bone breaking making the old man wince. Even Eragon grimaced. Being an assassin, he dealt with quick silent deaths, not torture, at least not all the time.

"I thought you infamous assassins would have a better guard up than this," The old man hissed, visibly shaking.

Eragon cringed which was rare.

"Yeah, they must all be hitting the tavern or something," He drawled.

The old man clenched his teeth as another scream of pain pierced the night followed by a loud crunch.

"Or they could all be dead," The old man grumbled. "Any bright ideas?"

"One but you'll have to trust me," Eragon shot back, diverting his gaze as the Raz'zack pounced on the novice and began ripping into his flesh with their beaks.

The old man paused and glanced sickly at the disgusting scene at the end of the hall.

"Never thought I'd trust a stranger much less an assassin," The old man groused. "But you seem alright. Lead the way."

Eragon nodded, feeling an odd flicker of respect for the man. He didn't even know his name! Heaving a sigh, he slunk back the way he had come with the old man following him. He was just about to enter the room when the ripping of flesh and cracking of bone ceased. The novice uttered a plaintive cry and all was silent.

Eragon and the old man froze. They felt eyes on their back and a furious scream startled them into spinning around. Two knives appeared in Eragon's hands out of nowhere with a flourish making the old man jump with a start and curse.

They both froze as they saw the monsters' gaze fixed on them. Everyone was silent and all was still. Then the monsters shrieked with pure hatred and rage. In a flash they surged towards the two startled men who snapped back into action as if a spell had been broken.

Wanting to buy some time, Eragon lashed out and threw a dagger at the nearest monster. It did little good but stopped him short. The creature just shrugged it off though and charged after Eragon and the old man with a renewed fury.

Pulse racing, Eragon raced into his office with the old man hot on his heels. He slammed the door shut and began yanking weapons off their hooks on the walls and using them to block the door. The old man helped and when the door was as secure as possible they finally stopped to catch their breath.

"So what's the plan oh Hand of Darkness?" The old man enquired, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

Obviously he was starting to doubt Eragon's reputation and to be honest, Eragon didn't blame him. He was starting to doubt himself and his abilities.

"There," Was all the assassin said, pointing up to the single round window that led up to the domed roof.

The old man seemed to pause as if appraising the escape route. Finally he shrugged and cocked his head at Eragon.

"It's a fool's hope but what have we got to lose?" He groused.

Eragon nodded and hastened to a corner of the room where he stashed a grapnel on strong rope. It was of elvish make and stronger than iron. Eragon tested the not on the grapnel by yanking it and the rope to see if it was tight enough. Satisfied, he swung it around a few times and aimed for the window.

"Brace yourself," He ordered.

The old man nodded and stepped back cautiously. Eragon hesitated and then tossed the grapnel high in the air. It sailed through the room speedily for a few moments before colliding with the window. The glass window shattered and tiny translucent shards rained down in all directions.

Eragon grimaced but quit feeling sorry for his wrecked office, or should he say Intimidation Chamber, since a bang at the door informed the beasts were on their trail. The old man hunched over as Eragon swung the rope again at the ceiling. This time it connected with the roof and stuck fast.

Not sparing half a minute, Eragon surged up the rope and was on the roof in seconds. The old man paused as he looked a bit startled by Eragon's speed and agility. But then he shook his head and clutched the rope as another bash at the door startled them both.

The Raz'zack were persistent and continued their relentless destruction of the door, propelling the old man into action. Truth be told, Eragon had never seen an old timer move so fast. There was definitely more to the old chap than met the eye since the codger scaled up the rope almost as fast as Eragon himself.

When they were up on the roof, Eragon yanked up the rope and tried to steady himself on the domed ceiling. He felt dizzy and his stomach churned as he saw the street miles beneath their feet. Luckily for him, he had never had to use this as an escape route before although he had a vague knowledge about the layout of the headquarter's ceiling in case the need should arise.

Suddenly, the two were thrown backwards as a Raz'zack exploded through the roof with a fiendish shriek. Bricks flew everywhere and dust nearly blinded them. Caught off-guard, they sailed backwards as a Raz'zack advanced onto the roof and began searching for them.

Eragon barely managed to catch himself but the old man nearly fell off. Unfortunately, the old man had fallen a couple feet below him and was barely holding onto a small ledge that jutted out of the side of the building. His other hand was grabbing onto the satchel for dear life and in the confusion, the bag had opened and the egg was resting on the edge of the satchel precariously.

Eragon grimaced. It was either the old man or the dragon egg. And just as he was about to make up his mind, the Raz'zack let out a screech of triumph. They had found them.

**TO BE CONTINUED **


End file.
